Partners
by writergirl99
Summary: A series of diary entries and flashbacks on each episode of the progression of the partnership between Barek and Logan.
1. Diamond Dogs

**A/N: I was trying to write a short story for English and came up with this. Ah, it will hopefully cover all Barek and Logan episodes. This is the first. Pretty much all dialouge is quoted from the episode. ****I guess to explain it, it is a series of diary entries showing the progression of a relationship between Mike and Carolyn. I hope you all like it. ****This Chapter is Barek's POV!**

**Spoliers for 5x02 Diamond Dogs. **

**If enough people like it I will continue on. **

**A/N2: Before I add the rest of the chapters I have gone back to edit these ones a little.**

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* * *

_

Mike Logan – Black Sheep of the NYPD.

_Growing up in a Polish family was hard. But it was even worse growing up with a family of cops. It made it easy for me to decide what I wanted to do when I was older. I was going to be a cop – like my family._

_This just meant that my family had firsthand knowledge of what cases I was doing and who I was partnered with. Of course, they knew the reputation of Mike Logan – NYPD black sheep, who I became partnered with._

_Having worked alone for so long, I guess I was the obvious choice for a partner. And our first case together, was an interesting one._

* * *

I saw how he was acting. Paranoid. On edge. I was the only one to notice this, but what with a dead body lying at our feet, and missing jewellery, I guess it was fair to say that no body's attention was on my partner.

I was studying him as he walked past me. He must have caught my expression as I watched him for he backed up, and gave me a curious look, opening his mouth to say something, and then closing it again. I guess he was waiting for me to say something; but I didn't.

Mike took this as his cue and asked the question on his mind. "What?" short and straight to the point.

"Relax," I told him giving him a small smile. He raised an eyebrow at me not understanding my words. "You've got the job."

Mike didn't seem to understand what I was talking about – but luckily a call from one of local uniforms called out to him to tell him that the security tapes were ready to be watched. He left without saying a word, allowing me to work without a distraction, to do what I do best. Profile.

Profiling is easy to do, but being alone for so long as meant that I have started talking out loud to myself, without actually realising it. I was profiling our killer when my new partner called out my name. "Tapes ready."

We were watching the tape together and I was profiling to myself again when my partner called me out on it. "You might want to think about getting a cell phone. That way, people might not think that you're talking to yourself."

I smiled inwardly glad he hadn't made a huge scene over it like some people. "Working alone to long," I said by way of explanation, which he seemed to accept, for he smiled and laughed gently at my comment before we went back to the tapes.

* * *

Sitting in the car in silence waiting for our delivery boy to turn up was starting to get to me. I pulled the small zip lock bag from my pocket and pulled out a cherry tomato. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my new partner watching me with interest.

"Cherry tomato?" I offered, trying to be polite. I saw the hesitation in his eye, so I decided to sweeten the deal. "They're from my garden."

I offered him the bag and he took one, popping it into his mouth. I looked down and took one from the bag, when he spoke again.

"What else you grow?" he asked interested.

"Cabbage."

"Polish food." He was quick. Not many people I had worked before made the connection. "I love pierogies. Are your mother's any good?"

"Nah," I laughed, "it wasn't her thing. So, uh, what did Mrs. Logan make her boy?"

I was interested to know the answer to this question.

"Rum punch." At a pointed look from me he gave a small laugh. "Private joke."

Despite the fact that he said it was a private joke, and I realised right away it was private, it was no joke. There, right there, was an answer to one of the many questions I had stored away to ask the infamous Mike Logan.

* * *

Mike and I were yet again completing surveillance, but this time we were waiting at the Methadone clinic, waiting for Maya and her brother to turn up.

"So, just in case I need an interpreter, how many languages do you speak?"

I silently laughed at the question I had been expecting since I got here. Considering that I spoke French to the woman, Sonya, to find out about this place we wouldn't have known about otherwise, I had been waiting and expecting that question. But where did I begin.

"Umm, well, Spanish, Yiddish, Italian, Polish," I began listing them all, "French, Creole. Some Russian, some Cantonese, from working in Chinatown. You?"

I don't think he was expecting quite that many languages. He quickly recovered though. "I can say 'stop,' 'police,' and 'what's your sign?' in fifteen different languages."

I had to laugh. I had no idea if he was being serious or not, but he probably was. I didn't get a chance to ask because we heard Maya's brother being called to the desk.

* * *

We were at the pool hall, looking around, hoping to find the man that Roy had been selling the jewellery to and, as predicted, we found him. Only he didn't want to talk.

Mike reached over and grabbed of the pool sticks of the wall, looking directly at the man. "You know," he began in a voice I hadn't heard of, "I had a partner, oh, what a great stick man he was. Here's something he had way too much decency to teach me." He bent the stick over one knee and broke it in half, chucking half away, using the other half to threaten the guy, placing it under his neck.

He grabbed the man's tie and began to drag him in the direction of the bathroom. I didn't like the look of where this was going – but I wasn't going to step in. Not until it crossed the line.

"I'm a rage-a-holic cop," I heard him say, dragging the man in the direction of the bathroom, still brandishing the pool cue, "who took a swing at a city councilman. Everybody thinks I'm a ticking time bomb. Maybe today's the day I blow. I don't know. It's up to you."

I saw a few public members about to step in, so I gently placed my hand on my hip, moving my jacket of to show my badge and my gun. They backed down. But all I knew was that this charade was going to come back and hurt us.


	2. Unchained

**A/N: Well, here's a new chapter. Unfortunatly, it's mostly the episode quoted, rather then more of my own stuff. I loved this episode, but for what I was looking to do with this story, it didn't work that well if I changed to much of it. The next is pretty much my own though.**

**This is a long chapter - sorry! It is case centered so I'm sorry about that, but you couldn't do muhc else with this. I apologise. If you have not see this ep, well, I guess it'll be really confusing for you. Bareks POV**

**Spoliers: 5x04 Unchained**

_

* * *

_"What was his excuse?" Logan asked. She paused, for a moment, looking down to her right; a little weary of us, nervous.

I'd worked a few cases now with my new partner Mike Logan. I liked having a new partner, someone to bounce ideas off. Didn't mean I stopped talking to myself, voicing my thoughts. When I was profiling someone, I liked to think out loud.

* * *

"He come over to the bar, and asked to borrow a nut-cracker," she told us, looking up again, but past Logan. Logan looked to his left deep in thought. My mind was working in over drive to. What she'd just told us did not make a whole lot of sense.

"Marissa," we heard her manager call from behind us.

"Oh, excuse me," she apologised to us, standing up and making her way past us. Logan took a second, before looking down at me, meeting my gaze.

"A nut-cracker? The guy's a mechanic right?"

That was exactly what I had been thinking; only my partner voiced it for me. We didn't say anything, instead, walking out the door and to the small parking spaces outside the bar.

Logan bent down to pick something up and I pulled out an evidence bag for him, holding it ready as he stood up, examining what he'd found.

"Well," he told me, twirling it in his fingers, "he might've borrowed it to make a quick adjustment on somebody's car. Tightened a fanbelt maybe," he guessed. From the way he gently shrugged, I could tell that although he had basic knowledge, cars weren't his thing.

He slid the evidence into the bag and I sealed it up tightly.

"Probably just a pre-text to get him out here," I guessed, turning away from my partner, as we began to walk out of the car space.

"Friend wouldn't need a pre-text," he countered.

"So he did a favour for a stranger."

This was what I liked about having a partner. It used to only be me, and I could profile the crims and find a motive, but it was never a challenge - and half the time my motives were wrong. At least now, I had a partner who challenged me. Made me think outside the square, questioned me to make sure the motive was solid.

"A stranger who knew he was a mechanic," I added, pointing a finger at Logan as a subconscious hand gesture as we entered the street.

"A kid with a good heart huh?" he joked as my mobile phone rang. I silently smiled to myself as I fished my phone out of my pocket, the same time we reached the car. I answered my phone pausing in front of the car.

"Barek here."

* * *

We examined the body and I talked to myself, gently under my breath as I examined him. I walked around the body, but Logan stayed in the one spot. We spoke to the Medical examiner, asking her a few questions. I did not look up from the body, but I was indeed curious enough to listen intently to Logan who shared some knowledge about Lobster traps.

I noticed a watch and gently peeled back the sleeve to look at it. "Well, the harbour masters log can tell us who was out there at one seventeen am Sunday morning. Time his watched stopped."

Logan looked up at me, and I looked up in time to catch his gaze. For a few seconds, we stared at one another over a dead body. Logan was asking me how I could tell so precisely.

I nodded my head gently towards the watch. "Waterproof to ten metres."

* * *

We walked out of the captain's office towards our desks, but Logan had a question playing on his mind. He asked it, without looking up from the paper he was reading. "Saint Barques? How did you know it was Officer Long's parish?"

I sat down at my desk and rolled my eyes. "I asked."

He looked up at me momentarily before looking back down at the sheet in front of him. "That's a nice gesture."

I looked him up and down but couldn't find any emotion behind the mask he'd put up. I really didn't think he was that interested in what he was reading, at least not to show any emotion. The only emotion that I'd seen on his face before, or seen from him, was anger. Rage.

"Oh here's something."

Logan and I picked up the files after the OCID boys walked out of the room. The desk was covered in files and folders, so we picked the ones closest to us, which happened to be phone logs, what we were after.

"Taglioti and wife," Logan muttered, flicking through the file in his hand, "Taglioti and mother. These are some brilliant phone taps."

I could tell Logan was already bored with this; we'd barely even started though. That was one thing I'd noticed about Logan. He was not very good at sitting down, doing paperwork. He preferred to be out in the field.

While Logan was going through his file with a running commentary, I was slowly going through mine, in more detail.

"Oh here we are. Giaggi. Louie Giaggi." I placed my arm on the desk resting my chin on my fist, looking at Logan curiously to continue on. "I remember him. Louis three eyes. He's got a big mole on his forehead," he gestured to the centre of the forehead. "He's a Gambino. I've got a phone tap of Taglioti talking to Louise three eyes the day before Georgie disappeared."

He turned to look at me as he said this. "So," he spoke, shuffling papers, "what's a Massuchi underboss doing talking to a Gambino solider?"

"This I.D. code," I pointed out to him, on the page that I was reading, as a way of answering his question, "is an FBI wire tap."

"FBI?" he asked, frowning in confusion, looking closer at the page. He sighed. "We'd be lucky to get it for the next ice age."

I knew the feeling. Most cops hated the FBI because they considered themselves more superior then the rest and rarely shared information with anyone. Especially wire taps. They just took over an investigation, expected full co-operation from the cops, without giving any in return. Except in this case, I had an ace up my sleeve.

"Ah, sooner," I shrugged indifferently, feeling Logan look back over towards me, curious. I looked directly at him. "I still have hooks there."

He nodded his head in understanding and with what could have been a new appreciation of me.

* * *

When we arrived at JFK we found uniforms securing the car. We thanked them and walked straight to the front seat of the car. We were lucky the car was not locked. Nothing seemed to jump out at us inside the car once we'd opened the door, so we popped the trunk and walked around to lift the lid.

We stared at it, for just a moment. "Oh wow," Logan muttered, as we leant down for a closer look. "There's blood all over here."

I noticed that Logan always seemed to voice his opinions about things, not really caring what anyone thought, or how sarcastic they sounded.

"Looks like Georige took his last ride back here," Logan continued on, still examining the trunk. "And he might have had company," he added a second later, "See these long red hairs caught in here?" he asked me, as I walked past him to examine the front of the car.

The candies on the floor caught my eye and I bent down to examine them. I noticed no packet on the ground, but looked up to the glove box, opening that, to find more of the red and white swirled sweets.

"Make sure we have prints taken inside this glove box," I told the tech, busy outside taking photos. If there were sweets on the floor it must mean that at one time or another, the glove bow was open and they fell out. Good chance we would get a print.

"Gotta' be the spare, hasn't been on that long," Logan spoke from where he was examining the back wheel. "It's looks clean," he observed, gently running his finger along the tyre. He turned to the tech, working away at the trunk. "See if you can get me some prints of the jack," he ordered.

I stuck my head out of the car to face my partner, giving him a questioning look at his last order. He gave a huge shrug. "Feeling lucky."

* * *

We were in the Medical Examiners office again for the two new corpses we'd found buried in the concrete. Both Logan and I had a quick look over the body, asking Rogers some questions. Logan moved onto the second body, the red haired while I looked at the personal belongings.

"Hey what about her?" I heard Logan ask as I sifted through the personal belongings.

"Broken neck," Rogers supplied as an answer for cause of death.

"Ah," Logan commented.

"She went quick," Rogers continued on.

I pulled the small object out of the pocket and looked at it, confused. "Car registration," I turned to my partner, who looked up at me form where he was squatting over the body, "people keep it in their glove box." I was silent for a moment as I thought back to the glove box in the car. "The mints feel out of his glove box. Do we have the location of his last phone call?" I asked.

Logan checked for me. "Mile before the Vanerick cemetery," he supplied, having no idea what it meant. He went back to what I was saying about the registration. "Well he'd go for his registration if he was being pulled over. He'd take it out of his glove box, and have it ready."

"If they didn't ask for it, put it in his pocket," I finished his thought for him before I lifted the wrist for my partner to see, it confirming out theory. One we did not want to put into words.

"These ligature marks."

"Handcuffs," he finished my thought. I nodded.

"A cop grabbed him of the highway," I had to voice what I knew we were both thinking. "Delivered him to Taglioti."

"A cop working for the mob," Logan summarised. We shared a look and didn't speak, silence over taking us as we contemplated a cop, one of us, working for the mob. All was silent until Logan spoke a second later.

"How low can you go?"

* * *

Logan walked into the room as I was busy going through the files, carrying more, under his arm, to add to our ever increasing pile of files to go through.

"IAD sent the last of them," he announced as he entered the room, sitting in the chair next to me, "thirty six detectives with access to the wire-tape." He flipped open one file and began to read. I knew it would only be a few seconds before he spoke out loud again. I was right.

"I really hate this, going through another cops file," he sighed, closing the file, leaning both arms on top of it. "I don't know how those IAD guys stomach it."

"You know what its like," I told him. It was not a question, but more a statement which he couldn't argue with. I looked up at him for a moment, and seconds later he looked at me. "Being on the wrong end of the microscope," I clarified.

"Ancient history," he tried to shrug it off. But I knew for a fact he couldn't shrug it off entirely. Even if he put it behind him right now, for this case, it would still comeback to hit him late on. Hard.

"While we're talking," he spoke a second later, "you ever been in vice?"

The question caught me completely of guard. I frowned, chancing a glance at him. "No."

"You know a lot about gambling," he answered my unspoken question, "you a player?"

"No," I dragged the word out, sighing, realising I had to tell him the truth about my friend. "I had a friend who had a gambling problem. Spent two years trying to fix him."

He looked at me, nodding his head gently. "Hard work," he sympathised.

"Detective Albert Kirkoff," I changed the subject. "The day after the attack on Taglioti he cut his vacation short and came into work."

* * *

We got into the car, after having spoken to detective Virginni. "Looks like detective Virginni wants you as a son-in-law," I joked. Maybe I could match him up with her. She seemed like his type, from what I could gather of them.

"No thanks," Logan told me pulling a file from the backseat."Virginni's graduating class. Five inspectors, seven deputy inspectors. That's the crew that practically ran the department." I took a moment to comprehend this, while Logan continued on. "Kirkoff's letters of reference. All from the crew. Virginni used his contacts to help Kirkoff get into OCID."

"He could have used them to kick himself forward, instead, he moved his partner into a position where he'd be indispensable to the mob."

I leant back in my seat, looking at Logan, feeling slightly worried by what we were unravelling here.

* * *

Logan and I stood behind the crowd that were gathered on the stairs for the impromptu press conference. Word got around fast as to who had been arrested. When a cop has been arrested, I guess word travels fast, and that everyone wants to know why. Why was this cop arrested? What did they do? Can you be sure they are the last dirty cop? It becomes a PR nightmare.

"And just look who they have investigating this hero," I heard said in front of all the cameras. That could only mean one thing. My partner – Mike Logan. I knew this would come back to hurt us. "A disgraced officer," he continued on, "whose record of misbehaviour speaks for it's self."

I looked over at my partner, the words hitting me hard, knowing they would have affected him badly. The crowd moved up the stairs, away from ask, asking questions all at once, leaving Mike and I alone, at the bottom of the stairs.

He turned to me, smiling gently. "This is going to be a lot of fun."

I rolled me eyes. "This is only the beginning."

* * *

"So, your partner know you're dropping in on me?" Virginni asked allowing Logan inside his house. Logan scanned the hallway, before answering his question.

"She hasn't been my partner that long I got to clear it with her. You want to check me?" he asked, raising his arms over his head, hoping to draw suspicion away from him self.

Virginni took a minute before answering the question, playing with the glass in his hand. "No." He walked to the table and poured himself another drink. "I'm just going to assume you're wearing a wire. Mike shrugged his shoulders. "Anyway, I can use the company."

He handed Mike a drink. "What's on your mind?"

"You that suppression hearing coming about Kirkoff's jacket?" It was something easy to start of with, something he had no doubt that Virginni knew about.

"Right. Plain sight."

"Well, it can go either way, depending on whether I say the closet was open or shut."

"What about your partner?"

"She wasn't there." Plain, simple, and straight to the point. He realised he needed to sweeten the deal. Not to much, just enough to reel him in. "That jacket goes away so does the case against Kirkoff."

"So it's all on you then?"

"Yeah," Mike sighed, realising that it was all on him. "Hey," he added a second later, "this case its all hunches of Phil Bartoli. And your right about things taking on a life of their own."

"I've seen it too many times," he shook his head slightly as he remembered. "Good cops held back. Ruined even."

"Yeah well, you take your lumps like a good boy, even then they never let your forget it." Mike looked around the room, before looking back at the man standing across the room from him. "I don't own these guys anything." He looked out the window, to create a pause in the conversation, build suspension. "You can tell Kirkoff to stop worrying." Virginni raised his glass in a mock toast.

"All right then," Mike sighed, heading to the door, "I'll see you later. Oh," he added just as he past Virginni, "By the way. I heard about how your daughter stands up for you. You're a lucky man."

Virginni smiled and laughed. "Well, I'd be luckier if I could get her out of the house every now and again."

Mike laughed. "She cramp her old man's style?"

"Something like that." Mike headed for the door but turned back when Virginni spoke.

"Why? Your interested?"

"In what?" he asked stepping back from the door. "Asking her out for a date?" he frowned.

"Not a date," Virginni shrugged. "Whatever. Why? You don't find her attractive?"

"No, she's good looking," he didn't need to fake that.

"She's got. Ah. Attributes," Virginni tried to sell his daughter. "Like her mother."

"It's just… I'm not really interested for a relationship."

"Who said anything about a relationship?"

"Well listen, I don't want to disrespect you but the kind of girls that I like…" he trailed of and Virginni spoke again.

"No disrespect. I mean, whose she saving it for anyway?" he tapped Mike lightly on the shoulder, who laughed along with Virginni.

"So what? A couple of dinner?"

"A dinner would do it. And don't forget the wine. Ranatta is just like her mother," he winked at Mike. "Can't hold her liquor. Tell you what," he said turning away, to grab a piece of paper with his daughter's number on it. "I'll tell her you might call, tell her it's okay by me."

Mike accepted the piece of paper, holding it up in thanks, before turning and heading out the door.

* * *

Logan and I let the daughter listen to this conversation so we could prove what we'd been telling her all along about her father. She let us, reluctantly, play her the tape. Her reaction to it was understandable. She was outraged. And upset.

We manipulated her with her feelings into helping her get a confession from her father to help us solve this case. Of course, we lied to her father as to why he was being brought in, so we could have them both in the cell at once – the perfect place for a confession.

I listened to the entire tape by myself and found myself analysing it. As a profiler, I had done this many times, so I didn't even think about it, as I went through the tape. After, I felt bad because it was my partner, and I was analysing his words, every sentence. Though he'd lied, in order to get her number from him, I found truth to some of his words and it made me begin to wander about Mike Logan.

He didn't like to show emotions, other than rage and anger, but he did often open up to me at least, and tell me things about him. He was happy to joke around with me, laugh. But underneath that all… there was still anger, hatred… he had been deeply hurt.

It almost didn't end as well as I'd hoped. He called his daughter every name under the sun, which I can admit, I'd expected form him, but he attacked Logan. I was almost afraid that Logan would lose it and attack him.

I was glad that Logan didn't react and we could all walk away. Maybe he'd worked on those anger issues of his.

We walked out of the holding cell back to our desks, while Renata was led away by a uniform. "Bartoli was right. It's easy to forget he's a cop."

"Still easy to forget he's a father," I added arriving at my desk. "Hey," I added a second later.

"Yeah?" he asked, turning to face me.

"So what are you going to do with that number?"

He laughed. "It's already deleted."

"Not your type?"

He shook his head, laughing, walking to his desk, and not answering my question.

_

* * *

_

What Mike had said to Virgini on the tape interested me, but I didn't want to read to deep into it. He was my partner after all. We needed to be able to trust one another, and if I kept profiling him, I don't think he'd like nor trust me anymore.

_After this case was finished, came another case, then another. But none of them invloved Mike Logan's past actions to be called upon. I honestly have no problem with it, because I know what kind of cop he is now, I know who he is. And I don't judge people for their past actions, unlike some people. Mike Logan was my partner, and it looked set to be so for awhile._


	3. In The Wee Small Hours Part 1 and 2

**A/N: I loved this episode so much. I think it's one of my favourite episodes. It had so much in it. A great case stroyline, plus emotional storylines for both partners. I'm sorry. Probably spelt a few things wrong. I'm crap at spelling, and going from quotes I don't have any written down anywhere. I'm basing it all on my own ear.**

**Spoliers: 5x06 and 5x07: In The Wee Small Hours Part 1 and 2.**

**

* * *

**

_I'd worked with Logan for a few months now. We worked well together as partnership. What I didn't expect was to end up working a case, involving four MCS detectives. But I grew too really like Goren and Eames. Goren had a… unique investigative style that I grew to like. I knew that some people didn't like it, and like my partner, some wanted him gone. But he and Eames, to me, were one of the best partnerships. They weren't just partners, but best friends._

_The case involving Judge Garret, did not just threaten to destroy me and Mike, but Goren and Eames as well. They tried to break the best damn MC detectives._

_

* * *

_

Mike and I were sorting through the laundry. Goren and Eames were talking to and interviewing the parents with Deakin's, and had asked Mike and I to sort through the dirty laundry. Maybe we'd find something. Reluctantly we agreed, and took a suitcase each.

It was quite as we went though our suitcases, until Mike decided to break the silence. "How come we get the dirty laundry?" he directed at me.

"It's their case," I responded, without a moment's hesitation. And it's true. It was their case. I looked down at my suitcase frowning when I failed to find any pants. "There any pants in there?"

"No," he responded, "just shirts socks and underwear."

"None in here either," I responded, curious. "What kind of mother sends their kid on a trip without a change of pants?"

"Besides mine," Mike chanced a glance up at me. I caught his gaze and realised he was serious, but trying to make a joke out of the situation.

He caught my eye and looked away, going back to the clothes he was playing with, "Look at this," he told me, holding it up so I could see it. "We've got large boxers, medium briefs."

I felt a presence behind me and realised that Goren and Eames must have entered the room behind me. When Mike looked over my shoulder, I realised I was correct. "Who packed these?"

"Roommate said Tim and Jesse did," Eames informed us. Logan frowned.

"And they put all the underwear in the same bag?" He threw down the clothes, to signify we were done here with the laundry. We'd found what we were looking for.

* * *

"The girls don't remember anything about the place other than it's down a flight of stairs and it has a red bar."

I looked up as I heard Eames say that. I knew which place she was talking about. It was called… "Oh, ah, the Shock and Awe club," I remembered the name of it, "It's on Harrison between Greenwich and Hudson."

I saw everyone in the room look at me. "There's a DJ there I know," I defended myself, walking towards the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Logan silently laughing at me, with an expression on his face reading something similar to "of course."

Even months later and we were still learning new things about on another.

* * *

When we found out about Tianna, it really got to us. A young black girl goes missing and not a damn thing is done about it, until a white girl goes missing. The case was probably poorly investigated then dismissed. It was racial.

As a cop, it is our job to uphold the law, and catch those that break it. We wouldn't have known anything about Tianna bad it not been for Bethany's disappearance, but we promised ourselves, Logan and I, that we would find who ever was responsible, and find out what happened to her.

"Captain, can we talk about Tianna?" Logan asked Deakin's, as the five of us were in the small conference room, going over the blog. Logan and I both thought it was pointless and selfish for the Chief of D's to only want us to spend time on Bethany. We were hoping to be able to at least have a little time.

"You want the Chief to come around on her you have the rest of the day."

Logan looked at his watch, and I looked up from what I was reading. "Twelve hours?" he looked over at me to see what I thought. He saw it written across me face. "We'll take it."

* * *

We got back from interviewing her friends and ran into Goren and Eames, talking about the same duet Logan had previously informed me of.

"What's this about Pearl?" Mike asked Goren, having overheard him telling Eames about the duet he was just speaking of.

"Pearl Bailey," Goren answered Mike's question.

"The blog entries around the time of Tiana's disappearance," Eames clarified for us, "they mention somebody by the name of pearl."

"Tianna asked her friends about a guy calling her pearl," I summed up what Mike and I had found out.

"Alright this is the guy," Logan jumped in. "There's gotta be a way of finding him of his blog."

"Alright well he's very clever," Goren added, as he turned to walk back to his desk. The three of us followed him. "Covering his tacks but he did mention going to a movie at a place called the forty second street country club."

"Ah, it's where the rat pack called times square," Logan pointed out. I leant against Eames's desk watching our male partners.

"Yeah, he also talks about meeting the college gang at Liuchow."

"Yeah, a restaurant it's on East thirteenth. It's an NYU college dorm now."

"His blog is filled with references, places that don't exist anymore. Except," Goren added, "to, you know Rat pack mytho's."

"Seems to be working very hard to be sophisticated beyond his years," I profiled, going of the evidence we had so far, the conclusions we were drawing.

"Well he also talks about his regular after school poker game. At litercranse hall."

"Sinatra reordered there when his career was on the skids," Mike spoke up. He knew an awful lot about the legendary singer. "It's on what? The upper west side?"

"Madison," Goren guessed, "the twenties."

Eames elbowed me. "Let's put them out of their misery," she said, winking at me, sitting down at her computer to type it into the search engine. "Litercranze with a Z? East fifty-Eighth Street between Park and Lex. It's a men's athletic club now."

Mike looked at his watch, then over to me. "Schools out. Time to stack chips with Dino and Sammi." He gave me a direct look, silently asking me permission. I gave it to him. I wasn't his mother. I couldn't tell him what he could and couldn't do.

"Be our guests."

They shared a look saying, "what the hell," before both walked away towards the elevators. Eames leaned back in her chair, relaxing. "There they go. Oceans two."

I laughed with her. Her description of the two was perfect. And accurate.

* * *

We watched the interrogation take place on Ethan's friend. When Eames turned to us, it signified that the interview was over, and we could talk.

"Geeze, all I got for my birthday was a transistor radio."

I turned from the window to face the captain. "A father and son tag team. It may not stop with escorts."

"Nail down where Judge Garrett was that Thursday night," he told us turning to leave the room. Logan looked at me and we shared a look.

"This is going to be fun."

* * *

_All had been going fine on that particular case. Working with Goren and Eames made me glad I was working with a partner, but also gave me a new perspective of investigation. I really enjoyed working with them and with my partner Mike Logan._

_Until the trial began. That's when things began to hit a little close to home. It tried to destroy not only my partnership with Logan, but Goren and Eames. It re-enforced my trust and loyalty towards my partner._

_They attacked us personally. I did not really care much about what they did to me and to Mike. That was normal. What they did to Eames on the stand, broke my heart but what they did to Bobby. That was unforgivable._

* * *

Logan and I had been called into the captain's office while at the judge's house. We knew it could not be good news. And we were right.

"This is crap," Logan said, looking at the file in his hand, then back up at our captain. "These were all investigated and dismissed by the review board."

"All except the last one."

Logan looked down at the file to see which the last one was. "Greg Sanchez. Alleged you threatened him with a pool cue and tried to drag him to a bathroom."

"Oh yeah him..." Mike spoke slowly, looking back up from the file, "Defence. I never actually threatened him."

"Mr Sanchez named Detective Barek as a witness."

All eyes on the room turned to me. "Nobody talked to me about it," I told him, telling the truth. "If they had, I would have said I saw a smart detective using the power of suggestion to get life saving information from a known criminal."

They did it. We both looked up at our captain who allowed us to leave. I reached my desk and sat down. Logan was right behind me. "Hey thanks for what you said back there."

"You don't need to thank me," I told him, "I only said what I saw."

"Well hey," he replied smiling. "Thanks for saying what you saw."

It was at that moment that our captain walked out, with ADA Carver, right up to me. "I got word somebody pulled your FBI personnel file. What will they find?"

It was a statement, rather than a question. What would they find that could damage this case? That could destroy my career and throw out this case?

"The record of somebody who was very unhappy. I was on loan to them for two years after nine eleven. I wanted to talk to somebody across the hall; I had to clear it with three supervisors. I… Those people couldn't stop an asthma attack."

The two shared a smile and walked of. I rolled my eyes. If somebody wanted to throw out this case, they were going about it the wrong way. My FBI file had nothing in it.

* * *

Logan and I attended the trial. We watched as Alex Eames got up onto the stand. After everything that had happened to get to this trial, we did not think that he would continue to attack us. But we were wrong.

They asked Alex questions, attacking Goren. When Alex tried to explain, they cut her of. Continuously. They wouldn't let her say anything, and it was taking its toll on her. I'd only just started working with Alex, but I'd come to respect her, even like her. And to see this done to her… to see them try to destroy and discredit Goren. Logan reached over and squeezed me hand to comfort me. But I was not the one who needed comforting.

I was thankful. I knew he felt my pain and was as angered as I was. It wasn't just us he was attacking. We knew Bobby was in the crowd, a few rows ahead of us, and we were both worried about him. After the attack on his mother, this could destroy him.

"You're saying you trust his judgment?"

Alex didn't hesitate before answering the question. "Yes I do."

"Then maybe you'd care to explain this." He brought over a sheet of paper handing it to Alex, who skim read it. "Do you recognise it Detective Eames?"

She took a moment to read the paper, looking up at the man questioning her, before looking down at the paper once more. "Yes," she sighed, "it's a letter… I wrote to my superior officer five years ago." Alex was almost in tears at this stage. We knew this letter could damage the case but also would hurt Eames. But what was in it?

"Please summarise the contents."

She looked directly over at Bobby, before looking down at the letter once more. "It's a request for a new partner. But I withdrew my request."

"Please, read the highlighted passage."

Alex wiped away her tears, looking down at the letter to find the highlighted passage. "Detective Goren's erratic and anti-social behaviour, his volatile and bizarre interrogation techniques led me to have serious doubts about his judgement and mental stability. I want to explain-"

"Thank you," they cut her off. "No more questions," he took the paper of her.

I was crying. I never knew much about Goren and Eames, other than what a fantastic partnership they were. For Alex to have felt this about Bobby… How could they do that? Attack a decorated detective like that on the stand? This would destroy Bobby.

We were lucky that Carver allowed her to explain about the letter. We were angry and upset. Not only did Judge Garret come after us, he went after Goren and Eames, personalising the attacks, going so far at to attack other family members. He was out for blood.

* * *

The case was finally over after a hecitc week of investigative work and hard days at trial. Elise Garret had killed Bethany, to protect her son. Not what we were expecting at all. It was an emotional case of all four of us and afterwards, I dragged Eames to the bar, whilst Logan dragged Bobby to the bar.

The four of us meet up, took a seat at a booth. I bought the first round and we all clinked our glasses in the middle, drowning our shots in silence, all four of us lost in our own thoughts about the case, and the preceding affects from the case.

Bobby and Goren had patched things up, but for them to work as efficiently as before, they needed to stitch it up. Logan and I, well, this case seemed to bring us closer together, as partners, but as friends. We were, if anything, stronger than ever.


	4. Saving Face

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**A/N: **Sorry for the delay but my muse ran away from me, took me a while to track him down...

_I hope I got all the "good" scenes from this episode. If I missed any, then let me know. I loved it, but I really didn't see anything in it that went along with this fic where as all the eps towards the end of the season are perfect for me. Let me know if it's good, bad, ugly etc and if you have any ideas leave them in a review or shoot me a PM_

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**Spoilers: **5x08 Saving face - alot of the dialouge is in fact from that episode!

_

* * *

_

I was used to working alone – but working alongside Mike Logan had caused me to re-evaluate that statement. I no longer enjoyed being by myself but rather enjoyed the company of Mike Logan who everyday managed to surprise me, even months after we became partners. He was one person that I found I could not accurately profile.

* * *

"Kids found her; she looks to be in her twenties."

I looked around the site. Dumpsters, an ally way of the main street, dark, concrete walls.

"Were they playing back here?"

It was one of the only solutions that I could see as to how the kids found the body, which you couldn't see when you entered the ally. In fact we had to make our way past at least three dumpsters before we could see the body, so there was no way that the kids could un-less they were, in fact in the ally.

The only thing was that Mike did not appear to notice any of this; as per usual his focus was on the body. It's why we worked so well together. He noticed things about the body, while I noticed other slightly more obscure things.

We made a great team despite the horrific cases that we often worked, and this one was no exception.

Butchered like an animal. A young teenage girl had been butchered like an animal. It was a horrific site, when Mike peeled back the shirt to reveal what had happened to her. I couldn't look. I looked away from the body and towards the surrounding buildings that I could see. How had those kids seen the building?

They had not reported the state of the body and therefore had, by my calculations not seen the body. So how had they seen the body?

"Maybe a window or…" I trailed off, looking around, before turning back towards my partner, only to realise that the detective standing next to me, was giving me weird looks. Sometimes I don't realise that I think out-loud to my self, and I guess in this instant I had been thinking out loud.

I looked down at my partner, who was chuckling. "Talking to your self again Barek?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Just wandering how the kids saw the body walking to school."

"You know… you could always ask them?"

"How did you ever make detective?" I smirked at him, before walking away from the body and back to where the two young kids stood with their mother, by the crime-scene tape to ask them about how they in fact, had seen the body.

_

* * *

_

We'd been looking through security footage of the airport arrivals for hours and we were still no closer to finding the girl. We were working alongside side a younger detective, who kept every once in a while glancing at us. It was getting un-nerving.

Pausing the footage I was watching, I stood up, "Mike, I'm getting coffee. You want one?"

He nodded his head and I walked out of the room down the hall to the break room to get us some coffees. It only took us a few minutes before I had them ready to go. Walking down the hall and back into the room, I put mine down in front of the computer monitor I was watching, before passing Mike his.

He nodded gently in thanks. It was a sign of a growing relationship between us when we didn't need words but simple gestures. Sitting back down I began my footage again, feeling the caffeine give me a slight energy boost which was needed given we'd been staring at computer monitors for at least two hours now.

It was silent for a few minutes till Mike spoke up. "I never thought I'd get tired of looking at women."

I just ignored him and kept looking at the screen. Some comments just didn't need a response. Those types of comments were his way of coping with cases, and if I was to be honest, since meeting him, it had made me smile a little, even laugh a little which with cases like these was a good thing – it reminded me of the fact that we were still human. And on cases particularly those like this, that's what we needed to remember.

_

* * *

_

Mike didn't bother to look at me as he spoke, "On principal I'd like to believe but then again… I'm an agnostic."

"Well, a little faith wouldn't kill ya," I responded, meaning every word of it. It was one thing that I'd learnt hard and fast about Mike Logan. He may be passionate, and let his emotions rule him, take over, but he didn't seem to have any faith in anything.

He looked from the pad he was playing with to give me a look, one I didn't recognise, but one I believed meant that I was slowly beginning to break down his barriers and that he was starting to believe. In me.


End file.
